I Can't, You Won't, Maybe I Don't Want You To
by smc-27
Summary: She's breaking their unspoken rule, though it's really out of her control. She really didn't want to fall in love with him. She can't help that she has. Chuck/Peyton GG/OTH Oneshot


**A/N:** Am I so into Gossip Girl that I had a dream I was living in the show? As embarrassing as it is to admit, yes. But it's making for some interesting ideas and I'm starting to love writing again (as opposed to just doing it to get the updates out).

Here's a little oneshot that should be fairly self-explanatory within the first bit. My first experiment with Chuck/Peyton. Don't know if it'll be the last. Readers who also review are awesome.

**----**

She finds herself among the elite of the elite, and she's not entirely sure how she got here. Sure, she attended the right school (Columbia) and lived in the trendy neighbourhood with a girl she never would have been friends with if they hadn't shared classes. She aced all the tests and went to a few parties and graduated after four years. She got her MBA, just like she had planned since she got accepted to school. She got her first job, and she got promoted within a year.

Now she's 25 and she wishes her life was all that simple.

But somewhere in between SATs and high school graduation and the end of her first year of college, the boy she thought she loved turned into something she couldn't love at all. He broke her heart and fell for her best friend. For the second (or maybe third) time. "Brooke's here," he'd said, just a hint of bitterness in his voice.

She wondered if he'd ever really make a choice.

But she was in New York, and she refused to not be; she figured she'd just make that choice for him. She'd surprised everyone by being the one to leave. They all thought Brooke would go and conquer the world and make her name a household one. But instead it was Peyton who left and Brooke who stayed with the boy they'd both maybe always loved.

The last words Peyton spoke to Brooke were, "you win."

That was four years ago.

She doesn't miss that little town or those people who broke her heart so much, so often. Save for the odd email or interaction with Nathan when his team plays the Knicks, she doesn't care to keep ties with that town at all. Her father moved to Boston, and she goes there now to see him.

Once a year, in the fall, she'll travel to Tree Hill to visit her mother on that morose anniversary, but she doesn't tell anyone and she leaves before someone might see her. She doesn't know what she'd say to anyone if they noticed her. She doesn't care to think about it.

She's standing at this event, sipping Cristal from a Wedgewood champagne flute, and standing in an pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes and a Marchesa dress.

And she wonders who she's become.

But all this is for show.

She's still the hardworking girl with the curly hair and the biting sarcasm. She still buys the new releases every Tuesday and she still eats frozen pizzas and root beer floats. She still practices boxing (though it's more stress relief than self-defence these days) and she still sits around in sweats and watches sitcoms on television.

Now she just has an impressive day job, a couple diplomas on her wall, an assistant and an expense account. She also has a large inheritance from the biological father she never knew, more money than she could have ever thought to spend (though that's changed over the years), and an excellent investment advisor.

The one thing she wishes she had more of are true and honest friends. The kind of friends she used to have. The kind of friends who wouldn't steal her boyfriend.

Not that she's bitter about it. Really. It's water under the bridge, and she won't dwell on it. Anymore.

It didn't help that her other serious relationship, the one she had in college, didn't end well either. The guy had ended up being an even bigger jerk than Lucas, she just hadn't realized it at the time. She realized it when she caught wind that he'd been having an ongoing affair with one of his professors, a waitress at the restaurant where he worked, and the girl he'd sworn to Peyton he was over.

She can pick 'em, can't she?

So it's another Friday night with a couple glasses of champagne, a nice dress and a handful of mostly meaningless conversations. She's new money (very new), having invested wisely and worked hard, and though most people know who she is, few seem to care.

She's just fine with it staying that way, thank you very much.

----

He tried it for a while. Love. He tried it, and it worked a little and it was actually kind of nice.

Until it wasn't anymore.

He got busy and successful, and she transfered to her dream school, and while New Haven wasn't really that far away, it got harder and harder to make it work. He was traveling more as CEO of his own company, and at 19, he had to prove himself. Well, maybe he didn't have to; he was, after all, a Bass, and the company was Bass Industries. But he wanted to prove himself. Running the business was something he was almost surprisingly good at. It was the thing that came easiest to him. It was everything else that got so damn hard.

She complained he worked too hard and didn't understand that he had to. She wanted him to take long weekends and stroll hand-in-hand past ivy covered buildings. She wanted him to send her love notes and perfect gifts and tell her that he loved her every single chance he got, and he just couldn't do it.

Somewhere along the way, he realized he just couldn't love her anymore, either. They ended it with tears and questions and him wondering if he was making a mistake, but knowing deep down that he wasn't. She deserved all those things she wanted from him, and he simply couldn't provide them. He told her someone else could love her better than he ever could, and he believed it, so he made her believe it, too.

And it was the truth. He still sees her every now and again. Manhattan is a small island, and its upper class is even smaller. They're both part of it. Now, she wears a Cartier diamond on her left hand and cuts her hair shorter and holds the hand of a man named James who she met at Yale. He's happy for her. She has everything she ever wanted. There's a small part of him that wishes, however, that he'd been the one to give it to her. He supposes all ex's think that from time to time.

She's at this party tonight, and he's finding it hard to watch her with their two oldest friends. Nate and Serena have been amazing at not taking sides - it's been years, after all. Chuck almost wonders if he and Blair's breakup had anything to do with Nate and Serena eloping in the Caymans, sparing the two brunettes the awkward wedding party interaction. He's never asked; he's not sure he wants to know one way or the other.

Their eyes lock across the room, though he wasn't trying to get her attention, and Blair smiles at him just subtly; no one else would even notice. He nods at her in acknowledgment, and she turns back to her husband, looking at that tall, impeccably dressed man the way she used to look at Chuck.

It's not like he's lonely. He never has been, or so it's easy to tell himself. He'll find a girl to occupy his time until he tires of her, then he'll move on. It'll last one night or one week or one month, or very rarely, several months, but never any longer than that. He's slowed all that down a little bit, choosing instead to focus on work. But his bed is rarely cold, and he's got a few women in his phone he can call on as dates to events, and a few women he can call on to spend time with after events in his penthouse flat.

He's seen this woman around at several parties. She's beautiful, and he knows he's not the only one who notices. She's fairly captivating. Tall and long-legged and olive skinned. She's got long hair - she's growing it, he thinks - and green eyes and a gentle smile that he thinks she doesn't use nearly enough.

"Hi," he says, walking up to stand beside her at the bar.

"Hi."

She's not all warm and inviting. He likes it.

"I'm Charles Bass."

Sometime shortly after high school, he decided that upon first introduction, it sounds more mature, more businesslike, to say Charles and not Chuck.

"I know." She grabs the glass of water that's just been set on the bar for her, takes a long sip, then finally turns to him. "You don't remember me."

"I do," he says. "The benefit two weeks ago. You wore a red dress."

"Yes," she says, and there's an amused smile on her lips. "And I invest in your company."

"Thank you." He smirks at her as he says it, and she narrows her eyes at him, as though she's trying to figure out if he says that to everyone.

"Don't you own 49%?" she asks. He lets out a breathy laugh and nods his head, and she knows he's impressed at her knowledge of that fact. "I do my homework."

"Smart woman," he says in appreciation. "Are you going to tell me your name?"

"No," she says, raising her brow.

She walks away and he's left standing alone, wondering if maybe he's met a woman who can hold his attention. He won't fall in love - refuses to - but maybe she can entertain him for a while.

He wakes up the morning after the party and he's still wondering who he's going to call to get her name.

----

Peyton is in her office Monday morning when a bouquet of beautiful white lilies arrives for her. She looks at them questioningly, then searches for a card, and there on a personalized, embossed notecard is just a phone number and the initials _CB_.

She smiles.

----

She doesn't call him, and he doesn't really expect her to, but now she's got his number. He's not the kind of guy to just give it one shot and then give up. And he finds himself thinking her name is kind of lovely.

It's two weeks before he sees her again, and it's intermission at Lincoln Center. He spots her across the room and she gives him a half a smile. He smirks back before she looks away, and he watches her walk back into the concert hall. He notes how low cut her dress is and the way her hips sway and the way her wavy hair moves as she does.

He sees her outside afterward, tapping her expensive shoes on the pavement and pulling her hair up with her hands. He's not sure what she's waiting for, but there may be a little part of him that hopes it's him, as ridiculous as he knows that is.

"Miss Sawyer."

"Oh! Hi," she says, pressing her hand to her heart. "You scared me."

"I apologize," he says, tucking one hand into the pocket of his pants. "How are you?"

"I'll be fine when my heart rate returns to normal," she says. She's smiling again, and he wonders if it's genuine. "What'd you think?" She gestures to the building they just came from and he shrugs his shoulder noncommittally.

"It was Vivaldi. It's never really bad," he says. She wonders how many times he's seen that particular symphony.

"Thank you for the flowers," she says, though perhaps too much time has passed for her thank you to be appropriate. "Lilies are my favourite."

"I know."

"How?"

"I know a lot more than you probably think." He sends her that smirk again, and it's then that she notices that his eyes are so brown they're almost black.

"You mean more than I probably want you to," she states. He laughs, and she finds herself smiling. "I'd ask how, but the answer would probably scare me."

"Perhaps," he concedes. "Would you like a ride home?"

She wants to say no. She wants to say that she has a ride and she doesn't need his help. The truth, however, is that the coworker she came with has left to meet her fiancé across town, and Peyton is on her own.

"I'll take the silence as a yes," he says. She rolls her eyes and he gestures towards a black Cadillac limousine that's waiting at the curb.

They're quiet for a couple blocks, though there's traffic, so it's really more like 10 minutes. She almost likes the silence; her looking out one window and him looking out the other. She wonders how many 'happy couples' are doing this same thing. The only difference would be that they make appearances and smile at all the right times, then go back to expensive apartments and separate bedrooms until the next function they attend.

With Chuck, she just feels at ease there in the silence with him.

"What else do you know about me?" she asks, not looking at him.

"Basics."

"Such as?"

"Hometown, schools, job. Et-cetera." He turns to her and she doesn't look amused. He adores that his regular charm and tactics don't work on her; it sets her apart. "Your favourite colour is red. You live in the Morrows Estate building on Lexington. Magna cum laude from Columbia."

"You know where I live?" she asks incredulously.

"Just the building. I could get your apartment number, but I thought it rude."

"Yeah. _That'd_ be the rude part," she mumbles. "You always stalk women like prey?"

"I'm not stalking you," he balks. "I'm _intrigued_. You interest me."

"And by that you mean you're _interested in me_." She turns to him a little more, and he can't help but note the way the fabric of her dress moves over her thigh. "I'm not...like the women you...pursue. I don't...I'm not nice and sweet and...I'm just different."

"Have you considered that may be exactly why I'm interested?" he asks, his tone sultry in a way that's so natural it almost makes her shiver.

She doesn't say anything more.

No, she hadn't considered that.

----

She has lunch with him one day. He called her (she didn't even know he knew her number, though she's not surprised that he does) the day before and told her he had a potential partner for one of his projects coming in from London with his wife, and Chuck needed someone to 'even out the numbers'. Peyton didn't exactly buy it.

She still said yes, though.

So she sits in her business suit at the table with him at her right, and she sips San Pallegrino and a martini, and she listens to Chuck make his pitch. And it's a good one. She's convinced. The man they're lunching with isn't.

So while she really should probably keep her mouth closed, she jumps in with her two cents, weighing pros and cons and telling the Brit that if he wants to talk numbers, the decision is a no brainer. He'll make money. She closes her little rant by asking if that's what he wants. There's just a little bit of smug sarcasm in her tone.

Chuck thinks he might kiss her then and there.

They're all smiling when they leave, and both Chuck and Peyton know he'll be getting a call within the week saying that things can 'move forward' (though that's a term Peyton hates, it's also none of her business).

They're sitting in the back of Chuck's limo when she starts feeling horrible for stepping on his toes. "I'm sorry," she says.

"For?"

"I shouldn't have...That was inappropriate of me."

He looks at her and he wants to tell her she's sweet. But Chuck Bass doesn't tell women they're sweet.

"It would have been inappropriate if you hadn't just closed that deal," he tells her. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. He's seriously considering offering her a job. "You did fine. Better than fine."

"I thought you just liked girls to stand still and look pretty," she says. She's teasing him, and he kind of likes it.

"Every so often I find a better use," he says. She laughs and he has to smile. It's like she's a different person when she's laughing. "Thank you for doing this."

"It's...no problem." It's not a lie, and she would have thought, just hours earlier, that she would have had to suffer through that lunch, keeping quiet and ordering a salad and minding her business.

He sends her lilies again the next morning, and she doesn't even think twice before she calls to thank him.

----

She sees him at one more party. It's fairly casual. She didn't know he'd be there. It's at Nate and Serena Archibald's penthouse, and she shows up in heels, jeans, and a flowy silk tank top with her hair in a ponytail. She met Nate during her fourth year at Columbia, and they've been acquaintances ever since. She's met Serena a handful of times, and the two women get along just fine; maybe better than fine.

Still, Peyton doesn't really know why she's here. Sure, she got the invite and said she'd go, but she really doesn't know why. She knows Nate and Serena, and she knows they're friends with Chuck. She wonders if _that's _the reason why. As soon as she's thought it, the sentiment leaves her mind. She's handed a gin martini, and she eats the olive promptly, and she's waved over by Nate, who's talking to a few people in the living room.

He kisses her cheek and she thanks him for inviting her, and she and Serena embrace like they always do - both girls like to hug; etiquette be damned - and they make small talk and catch up for a while.

Peyton isn't the only one who notices when Chuck walks in. He's in one of those ridiculous pinstripe suits that she secretly loves, and he carries himself with such confidence that she has to smile. He walks over and greets his friend and his...step-sister...and he smirks at Peyton and calls her Miss Sawyer, like he's always doing, and when Nate and Serena go to talk to other guests, Chuck watches _Miss Sawyer_ in amusement as she finishes her drink.

"Okay, what?" she asks. Her tone is biting, but she's wearing a smile, and he grins at her. "You're staring."

"You're stunning." He takes her empty glass and hands it to one of the wait staff, and Peyton crosses her arms over her chest. "Come with me."

"Come...Where? You just got here," she reminds him.

"So did she," he says, jutting his chin towards the brunette who's air kissing Serena's cheeks.

"What...?"

"Come with me," he repeats, a little more forcefully.

She can't say no.

She nods her head and he rests his hand on the small of her back as they walk past the girl she knows is Blair Hamilton (nee, Waldorf). He reaches for a bottle of champagne, raises it to Nate, who laughs and shakes his head - that's so very Chuck - and he leads Peyton to the elevator.

They end up on the rooftop, which Peyton isn't surprised is landscaped into a perfect 'garden', and he walks to the edge of the roof, leaning his arms back on the railing as he watches Peyton walk towards him.

"So what's the deal?" she asks. "Why are you avoiding Blair?"

"Please. You know the story." Everyone knows the story. Sometimes he wishes they didn't.

"Yeah," she says, smiling at him. "But I wanted to see if you'd admit to it."

"Admit to what?" he asks as he unwraps the foil from the neck of the bottle he'd grabbed. "Having a relationship when I was younger?"

"You're hardly old," she giggles. _Giggles_? She loathes herself.

"We all have pasts, don't we, Miss Sawyer?" he asks. It almost sounds like a threat, the way he's said it, and she can only nod at him in agreement. She wonders how much he knows about her, and when he passes her the bottle after popping the cork, she looks hesitant. "Just take it."

"Are you trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?" she asks teasingly.

He loves that she's teasing. "If you're saying that's alright," he says. He smiles when she laughs, and she takes a sip of champagne, straight from the bottle.

"Chuck..."

"I'm joking," he insists, taking the bottle back from her. There was a time when he wouldn't have been joking. He can't pinpoint the moment that all stopped.

"You know, I'm trying to figure out how much you know about me," she states after a moment.

It's been driving her crazy. She wants to know how if he knows details of her past, especially after what he just said to her. Does he know about her moms? Her dating history? Her father? Her friends? Does he know...

What does he know?

"Not as much as you probably think," he tells her. "Some stones are better left unturned."

She nods her head and moves to stand next to him, but she's leaning forward on her elbows as he leans back on his. She looks out over the city as they stand there in silence, passing that bottle of champagne back and forth between them. It's twenty minutes before she realizes how much she enjoys just being with him. There are no expectations; no need to fill the space with words and declarations. Sure, she knows very little about him, and maybe he knows very little about her. It may seem crazy, but she almost wants it to stay that way, but spend more time like this with him. It may not make sense, but that's what she feels.

After enough champagne, she finds herself speaking words without really thinking. "My mom died when I was little," she confesses.

He takes a deep breath, but their eyes don't meet, and he thinks he likes that she can say something so heavy and so..._sad_...and not want him to be sympathetic or comforting or anything. She just wants him to know, and he's glad she told him.

"Mine, too," he almost whispers.

They don't say anything more after that. Not one word. She checks the time on his Movado and smiles at him before she turns to leave, and he takes a swig from the bottle as he watches her walk away from him. There's more to her than everyone sees, and he can tell. He hates that he wants to know what she's hiding.

----

She sleeps with Chuck the night she finds out Brooke and Lucas are engaged.

Nathan called her to let him know he'll be in town in two weeks' time, and that he's set aside tickets for her, and he'd told her the news quietly. She'd always insisted she was over it, but he still knew that a little piece of her heart would break knowing that Brooke was getting the happy ending with their boy. They may have bestowed that title upon him jokingly, but it was actually true. _Theirs_.

But now only _Brooke's_.

It's pouring rain and New York is a mess. All Peyton can think of is a line in a song she's heard before. _A clear sky just wouldn't feel right_. She's resisting the urge to get very, very drunk and cry until she falls asleep, but all she has is about an ounce of vodka, and that's really not going to do the trick.

Of all her friends, she knows no one will understand what she's going through.

Except maybe Chuck.

She dials his number before really thinking too much about what she's about to do, and she asks if he wants to come over. She knows he'll hear in that exactly what she wants him to, and he says he'll be no more than an hour.

One hour. She can handle that much time on her own. She won't cry. She's too stubborn and she's too stoic, and Lucas Scott has already gotten enough of her tears.

She doesn't change out of her black satin nightgown, but she checks her makeup and puts on lipgloss and drags her fingers through her hair. Nothing says she can't look nice. She doesn't think Chuck is the kind who'd turn her away, but she can make at least a little bit of an effort.

There's a knock at the door only a half hour after she made the call, and she tries to smile when she sees him. It's hard, but she manages. He's wearing a plain black suit - a rarity for him - with a black shirt and a black tie and a black pocket square. She wonders where he's coming from to be with her. Part of her hopes it's somewhere important; it'll make her feel better.

He steps inside after glancing at her attire, and after she's clicked the door closed, she slips her hands into his, weaving their fingers together and walking backwards, pulling him towards her bedroom. He doesn't question anything, and she loves that. As soon as they're in her room, he pulls his hands away and places them on her waist, pulling her flush against him. Their eyes lock right before he kisses her, and it's such a relief for him to finally be in this position with her that he sighs a little bit against her skin.

She unbuttons his jacket and loosens his tie, and she does it with purpose. She's not one of those girls who needs to be prompted, and he finds that so sexy that his fingers dig into her skin just a little bit, and she pulls away and smiles at him. Oh, this is going to be fun, he thinks. She's not a prude, he can tell, and she's not shy. She's his kind of girl.

She's laying naked beneath him and he's running his hand over her hip when he notices something in her eyes. It's not a tear; it's an emotion he can't place. Something like regret or fear. Maybe both.

"Peyton..."

"Don't," she insists. "Just..."

He kisses her before she can get the words out. She's thankful. She wasn't sure what she was going to say anyway.

He isn't there when she wakes up in the morning, and she's just fine with that. She didn't expect him to stay, and she doesn't think she wanted him to.

But there are lilies on her desk when she gets to her office, and a card with the name of a restaurant and a time she assumes he wants her to meet him there, and just his initials again.

Of all the people she ever would have thought would have helped her and understood her that well, Chuck Bass isn't even on the list.

She never took him for the kind to send flowers the next day, either. She likes, though, that lilies are kind of their thing.

----

They leave together from a function at the Waldorf-Astoria, and it's the first time that anyone suspects they're anything other than mere acquaintances.

It's a horribly stuffy party that Peyton didn't want to attend, but felt the need to, since she donated to the charity that it was for. She bought a plate for the dinner before realizing that Chuck would be there, and he calls the organizers, asking them to ensure she'll be seated next to him. Peyton wonders what it means that he made that call himself instead of having an assistant do it for him.

He places his hand on her thigh beneath the table, his thumb brushing the think fabric of her golden yellow dress back and forth, and she places her hand over his to still his movements. It's not because she's afraid of getting caught, it's because she's afraid of what she'll do if he keeps touching her that way. He can see all that in her eyes. He'd never admit it.

They've been doing this a little over a month. They eat together in little bistros and go to his place or her place and sleep together and she doesn't say it, but it's the best sex she's ever had. They sleepover, and he says that it's only so he can have her in the morning before he goes to the office, but they both know damn well that there may be more to it than that. She thinks it's sweet that she'll wake up with his hand on her thigh or his arm draped over his stomach. They don't hold hands, not even in private, and he likes that she's not the kind of girl who needs or asks him to.

They're photographed together that night as they leave the event, and he shows up at her apartment the next day with Page Six open in his hands, and she shrugs her shoulders as if to ask what she's supposed to do about it.

It's not the photo that bothers him, it's the headline. _Is it Love for New York's Most Eligible Tycoon?_

She takes the paper and drops it onto the table next to her own from the day, and he takes off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack in the hall like he always does. He loosens his tie and watches her pour two glasses of wine. It's the bottle he brought the last time he came for dinner and they ended up getting...sidetracked...before they could open it.

He needs to lay it all out there. They're comfortable. He doesn't want her to get _too_ comfortable. He walks into the kitchen and leans against the counter a few feet away from her.

"I don't fall in love," he says firmly, like there's no room for her to even argue. The way she looks at him lets him know she believes him.

"I don't _want_ to fall in love," she says. Their eyes lock and she almost smiles.

She thinks they're perfect for each other.

----

He stops seeing other women, somewhere along the way. Peyton has become enough for him. That's only happened once before, with one other girl.

She's the only one he wants, and he doesn't tell her so.

----

They start seeing enough of each other that they have arguments. Intense ones that leave one or both of them cursing and clenching their jaws and fists. It's no surprise really, since their personalities are somehow so similar and so different at the same time. They're rarely ever on the same emotional plane. It's volatile and probably not that healthy, but it's what they have, and so neither complains about it. Not often, anyway.

They're laying naked in the middle of the night in the middle of his bed, all wrapped up in his expensive sheets, and he's looking down at her, lit only by the city lights coming through the window. It strikes him that he's never seen that look in her eyes again; that look he saw the night she called him over for the first time.

"Why did you start this?" he asks. Perhaps he should know better, but he wants an answer.

"What?"

"This. Between us. That night you called me."

"My...ex got engaged," she says quietly, not looking at him. She toys with the sheet that covers her, wrapping it around her finger. "To my best friend."

"Oh." He doesn't know why he hates that answer. He was a temporary escape that turned into a more frequent temporary escape. Karma? One could argue. "That's great."

"Yeah, Chuck. I'm sure it's hard for _you_," she says, shaking her head as she laughs bitterly.

"So that's what this is? You needed a quick fuck?" he spits. She thinks it's almost funny that they're still laying in bed together, even as they say horrible things to one another. "I'm your pain reliever? Just something you can use to get through the rough patch."

"Oh please," she scoffs. "As if you didn't bed half of Manhattan after she got engaged." Peyton knows better than to speak the other woman's name, and he likes that. She wishes he'd bestow the same consideration on her.

He gets out of bed, and she gets out of bed, and they each reach for the sheet at the same time to cover themselves. He lets her take it, and she wants to smile, but she doesn't. He grabs the blanket from the end of the bed and they stand there, with his king size and a whole lot of issues and broken hearts between them.

"Lucas is moving on. _Has moved on_. You shouldn't let that...fool...ruin your life."

There's something in his tone that sounds like jealousy or anger or some kind of encouragement. Of course, that encouragement is in Chuck's own special way, and Peyton just wishes he'd say what he means. Just once. For a guy who's such a headstrong, mostly honest businessman, he's so guarded with his own emotions that Peyton can't stand it sometimes.

"He's not ruining my life. God. It's been _years_, Chuck," she reminds him. "It was just a hard day, and..."

"And what?"

"You and I had..._have_...this thing between us."

"Sexual tension," he says bitingly.

There's a part of her that hates that be might believe that. She thinks it might be a big part.

"Maybe you're right," she says, throwing her free hand in the air as the other clutches the sheet to her chest. "Maybe that's all this is. I'm the cold hearted bitch, and you're the millionaire playboy, and...that's that."

"Maybe," he agrees, though there's still anger in his tone and his voice is still cold and uninviting.

"Fine," she says. She checks the time and sees that it's nearing 3:00 in the morning, and she crawls back into bed, wrapped in just that sheet and laying as close to the edge of the bed on her side as she can.

"What are you doing?" he asks. She doesn't turn to look at him; her back is still to him and it makes him angry for some reason.

"I'm not walking around New York in the middle of the night," she says bitterly. "So you're stuck with me."

"Fine," he grumbles. He doesn't tell her that being stuck with her doesn't sound so bad. He's certain that whatever they have is probably over if he doesn't just say _something_.

But he can't make himself say _anything_.

He seriously considers sleeping in one of the other bedrooms or on the sofa or hell, even on the floor. But it's his place and his bed, and he'll be damned if he's going to let her kick him out of the comfort of his own bedroom. He lays down on his side of the bed on his back, with just that blanket covering him.

All he can think about for the next forty minutes is how she's laying naked next to him and he can't do anything about it because he's been a jackass. And he has been. They started this thing between them months ago, and no matter how it started, none of that really matters. The truth of it all is that she called him that night because she knew she could rely on him. She never made a big deal of the reasons because to her, they really weren't big at all. She may have been a little emotional when it all began, but that clearly isn't the reason why she's still with him.

"Peyton," he says after a while. "Are you awake?"

"No."

"Come here." He smiles in the darkness when she rolls onto her back with a sigh, and he looks at her expectantly, asking her to come a little closer to him. "Sorry."

"Okay," she whispers after a moment. She settles against him, draping her leg over his, and he kisses her temple.

"I'm sorry," he says, a little bit more seriously. She nods against his chest and lets out a breath.

She doesn't know if he's apologizing for acting like he did, or because she had to go through something he knows from experience is so difficult, so heart-wrenching. Either way, she'll take that apology.

She falls asleep just moments after she's in his arms again. She wonders if that means something a little more serious than either of them is ready to say.

----

They're sipping coffee in his living room, her legs draped over his as they each read sections of the _Times_. He's in his silk monogrammed pajamas, which she always makes fun of him for, and she's in a silk 'dressing gown', though she calls it a robe, and he's insisted he get her initials put on the pocket. She hasn't let him. He's ordered one from Barney's without telling her.

"I can't believe Jack Johnson's new album is getting such good reception," she says offhandedly. She's shaking her head, and he smiles and rubs his hand over her calf. "It's annoying."

"The album or the review?" he asks, pouring over the business section.

"Both."

"Fair enough," he laughs.

There's a knock at the door, and neither moves to get up. Peyton looks at Chuck expectantly - it's his place, after all - but he shoots her a look that lets her know that he has no intention of getting up. When they hear the jingling of keys, they both know who it is anyway; only Serena and Nate have access to Chuck's place.

Serena bounds into the living room with her blonde hair swirling around her and Nate following behind her. Just like always. Peyton thinks it's adorable, and Chuck scoffs, but smiles, every time she tells him. Truthfully, she's come to adore this couple even more, the more time she spends with them.

"So it _is_ true," Serena announces, sitting on the coffee table across from Chuck.

"What is true, _sis_?" he asks, knowing that name still annoys her, even after all these years.

"You're..._you two_," she says. Both Chuck and Peyton look at her like she's crazy. She and Nate have known basically all along about this 'relationship'. "Nate, explain."

"The New Yorker is claiming that you're settling down," Nate elaborates. "It's been online since yesterday. In print this morning."

"We've been here since yesterday," Chuck says casually, folding his newspaper on his lap.

"You're being very nonchalant," Serena notes. She places her hands on Chuck's knees, and he rolls his eyes.

"They can say what they want to say. They always do," he reminds her. She knows this as well as anyone. "It's not as though this," he pauses to gesture between he and Peyton, "is anything new."

"_That's_ _why_ it's news," Serena tells him. "Chuck, you haven't been with anyone this long since..."

Truthfully, maybe he's known that it's been almost six months since he and Peyton started seeing one another, but it's just really dawned on him when Serena pointed it out.

"Yes, but..."

"Serena," Nate interjects, placing his hand on her shoulder. "You're talking to him like Peyton isn't here."

"It's okay," Peyton says with a laugh. "You two are hilarious. Like brother and sister." She winks at Chuck because they both know it'll make Serena groan to have someone else say those words.

Chuck just smiles at her and lets his fingertips dance over her ankle, since her legs are still resting atop his.

Serena looks up at Nate and they have a silent little conversation. They both know that there's a lot more going on than the couple before them wants to admit; maybe they don't even realize it yet.

The married couple waits while Chuck and Peyton go get dressed, saying that they'll go shopping, then to lunch, and all Peyton can think is that if they keep making these public appearances, the press is just going to confirm that they're a 'real' couple. She's starting to wonder if maybe that's exactly what Chuck wants them to be, and he's just too stubborn to admit it.

When he rests his hand on the small of her back as the four of them walk through the streets of New York, he knows very well that they're being watched. For the first time in a very long time, being seen with a woman is definitely not a bad thing. They end up at Bendel's, and when Peyton and Serena are trying on shoes and laughing together, Chuck buys matching scarves as Nate looks on.

"Not a word, Nathaniel," Chuck insists, signing his credit card slip.

When his eyes meet Nate's, the two men share a smile and Nate knows that Chuck knows what Serena knows. Peyton is different. His relationship with her is different.

And maybe he's a little different when he's with her as well.

----

She realizes she's in love with him one night after he's fallen asleep. His dark hair is a mess and there's stubble on his jaw. He's shirtless and the sheets are gathered at his waist. His strong back is on display as he lays on his stomach, and every so often, he lets out a little sigh. She can't decode the sound, she just knows that she adores it. She just knows that maybe she'd hate if she didn't hear it ever again.

She's breaking their unspoken rule, though it's really out of her control. She really didn't want to fall in love with him. She can't help that she has.

She won't tell him, though. If she does, she'll lose him, and that's the last thing she wants.

She falls asleep, ruefully thinking this isn't the first time that she could lose a boy for falling for him and keeping her feelings hidden. It's also not the first time she could lose a boy for falling him and making those feelings known, either.

----

He stays at her apartment for over a week when his floors are being refinished, and it's the most time they've spent _together_ since they started 'seeing one another'. It surprises him that she doesn't drive him crazy and he doesn't infuriate her. He finds himself actually enjoying being around her so much; knowing there's going to be someone there when he gets home.

He's had a particularly rough day, and he's in an awful mood when he arrives, using the key she's given him (just for the week, they both say) to enter the apartment. He shucks his jacket, and he lets himself smile when he sees her in the kitchen, wearing a black apron, cooking dinner, listening to soft music. She grins at him and points to the glass of scotch she's poured for him. There's a funny feeling in his heart that he ignores as he kisses her temple and takes the drink in his hand.

He sits on the sofa and sips his drink in solitude while she finishes preparing dinner, and it's almost 20 minutes before she takes off her apron and joins him. He adores that he's been there for that amount of time and neither has said a word. She doesn't pester him about his day; she just assumes he'll tell her, and if he doesn't, she's fine with that.

She walks up behind him and rubs his shoulders a bit and says hello. He thinks he could get used to this. It scares him that he thinks he already may be used to this.

"I do like you, Peyton," he says, because it feels right to let her know that he appreciates her. She smiles and leans down to kiss his forehead when he tips his head back.

"I should hope so," she says with a raised brow. The smile he gives her is one she doesn't think she's seen before. She falls in love with it immediately.

He doesn't give that key back after he's moved back into his place.

----

Her father's boat capsizes in the Atlantic, and Peyton gets the call in the middle of the night that he's okay, but that he's asking for her. Chuck's next to her in her bed, and he overhears the whole thing. He pulls her into his arms without a second thought, and he soothes her with his voice and his embrace, and when she stands to pack her things, he tells her he's coming with her.

"You don't have to," she tells him, shaking her head. "You're too busy. You've got..."

"Nothing," he interrupts. "I'm coming with you."

"Chuck."

"You know better than to argue," he says, and she closes her eyes and nods.

They both know she doesn't really want to argue anyway. She knows why she wants him there - she loves him, and he's the most comforting thing she has, somehow - but she doesn't know why he's so insistent upon it. She doesn't question it. She just packs her things and they get into his limo to drive to his place. She insists she'll stay in the car while he grabs his things, but he's having none of it.

They very rarely ever hold hands. He's not one to weave his fingers together with a woman's. But tonight, he realizes that it's very different. He realizes that maybe he needs to hold her hand and have her close as much as she needs to have her hand held and be close. He pulls her from the limousine and has her hand in his until they're in his bedroom and he's getting his things together.

He loves that he can make her laugh when she's crying. She laughs at the things he's packing into his garment bag. Two suits, a few cashmere sweaters and some button downs. He smiles when she reaches for ties to match, and he grabs his essentials from the bathroom. He kisses her gently as they wait for the elevator, and he tells her once more that it'll be okay.

She really doesn't know how or why she believes him. It's almost as though it's just because he's Chuck Bass and she knows he won't _let_ it be anything _but_ okay. Or maybe it's because (and she's just realizing this now) he's never lied to her before; never told her one thing and done another or said he'd do something and not done it.

The sun is coming up just as they enter Boston, and Chuck gently wakes Peyton, who he'd convinced to try to get a little sleep. She stirs awake and rubs her eyes and realizes she's still in the back of the car. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, and she laughs just a little when Chuck hands her a little bottle of mouthwash. Of course, he has mouthwash in his limo.

They pull up to the hospital, and she rushes inside, pulling him along with her. She looks at him apologetically once they're walking towards the room they were told her father is in. She knows how much he hates to be dragged anywhere. He just winks at her, and once they get to the door, he lets go of her hand and pushes the door open for her. He watches her walk through, then lets the door close and moves to sit on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room. He pulls out his phone while he waits and starts making calls to let anyone who needs to know that he's going to be away for a few days.

He calls Nate and Serena first, who insist that he call them if he or Peyton needs anything. He calls his office and a few other 'handlers', and when Peyton steps out of the room over an hour later, she looks relieved, and he finds himself mimicking that emotion. Something about her feeling better makes him feel better.

"He's okay," she says as she sits down next to Chuck. "He broke his arm and has a collapsed lung."

"That's...not so terrible," he says. She leans against him and he brushes his lips against her temple.

"I'm sorry I made you come out here."

"You didn't make me do anything," he tells her, and she laughs a bit. She didn't, really. He'd been insistent.

"I'm going to stay for a few days, but...you should go back. I'll take the train or..."

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, as though it's crazy for her to ever imply that he should.

And then there's a little more relief in her eyes as she nods her head.

"Thank you," she whispers. She takes a deep breath and looks back to the door she came from only minutes earlier. "You want to meet him?"

He finds himself answering, "I do," before he can realize that he shouldn't.

He shouldn't want to meet her father, and he shouldn't let her even suggest it. He probably shouldn't be holding her hand again or following her to Boston just because he thinks she might need him. He shouldn't be blowing off work and obligations to be with this girl.

But he's realizing very quickly that he does want to do all those things. He wants to be there for her. He wants to be hers.

They spend their day at the hospital, and Chuck finds himself comfortably sitting with Larry while Peyton talks to doctors and nurses and does whatever it is she needs to do. The men talk about that girl, and Larry says something about Chuck being good for her, and the younger man wonders if he's ever been good for anyone before, and why he's good for Peyton and why she lets him be anything for her.

He's doing the one thing he said he wouldn't do, though it's really out of his control. He really didn't want to fall in love with her. He can't help that he has.

They pull up to the modest house her father owns, and he carries their bags up the steps and into the home. He sends his driver off to get a hotel room for the night, and once Peyton is inside and setting her things in the guest bedroom, she starts to cry again.

"I'm sorry," she says, smiling through her tears and wiping her eyes. "I just don't know how many times I'll have to do this."

He knows what she's saying. He knows about both the mothers she's lost, the man she never knew who died years ago, and now the father who's scared her in these kinds of situations before. Chuck pulls her into his arms and he laughs softly as he brushes her hair away from her temple.

"What?" she asks, smiling up at him.

"I don't do this," he insists. "I'm not this nice."

"You've always been this nice with me," she tells him.

He kisses her full on the lips because she really believes it. She kisses him back because he doesn't.

He pushes her back onto the bed and rests his weight on top of her, and she's unbuttoning his shirt as he starts kissing her neck in that way she loves. She nibbles his earlobe a bit and laughs when he glares at her; they both know that drives him wild - almost to the edge - every time. He kisses her and she lets his tongue sweet into her mouth and she's honestly never felt better. Not once in her life. It's all so unexpected; this moment and this man and the fact that they wordlessly promised not to let this happen.

But it's happened, and she feels like this could be her life, for the rest of her life.

"Chuck," she says breathlessly. He pulls away from her and, almost too delicately, he brushes the hair from her brow. "I don't love you."

"I don't love you either," he says. He's almost smiling.

And then he kisses her.

She knows he's not not saying what she's not not saying either.

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
